Voices
by Mistress-Samwise
Summary: Frodo is tormented by his memories of the past as he tries to explain them to Sam. Rated R for slash, angst, and what-not.


Mistress-Samwise: I'm going to be quick. Some of you may already know of my other works, and you then may be confused at the rating. It's got everything: sex, violence, swearing, and what not. *smiles stupidly* It's the Chicago hotdog of fan fiction. The only thing about it is that it's not NC-17, sooooooo… Yeah. And, on top of that, I don't really like this story too much, but I worked to hard on it to abandon it. Blah… It's so patchy.

Now, if you excuse me, I'm going to go drool on my new XBOX right now. Tah.

---

     "Sam?" Frodo asked, turning around from the window to the stout hobbit that was scuffling about behind him.

     "Yes, sir?"  the other replied, reluctant at his master's tone. "What is it?"

     "Sam..." Frodo repeated, though it seemed like he was trying to listen to himself rather than speak. "Do you feel at peace, now that the Ring is destroyed and we're back in the Shire?"

     Sam pondered for a moment.

     "Well, Mister Frodo..." he said slowly, scratching his head. "I can't rightly say. I mean, I'm back home and all, with you, Rosie, and little Elanor... But I can't help in feeling... a little worn, if you follow me."

     "Yes, Sam," Frodo stated softly. "I know what you mean..."

     Frodo's voice fell transparent and his chin dropped to his chest. Instead of growing blurry with tears that he so sorely wished for, his eyes remained open and emotionless as they stared blankly at the floor... or was it at his right hand? For a moment, Frodo did not stir, nor make any sign of life at all. 

     "Mister Frodo...?" Sam squeaked worriedly, leaning over to look upon his master's face. "What's the matter? Are you alright?"

     Frodo's eyes changed from vacant to bewildered as his lips set in a small frown.

     "I... I don't know..."

     Sam could not say anything, but looked even more anxiously at Frodo.

     "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Mister Frodo."

     Frodo, for a moment, seemed completely disoriented while he sat motionless in his chair. He stared at his hands as if they didn't even belong to him anymore.

     "I feel... I feel..." He paused for a moment, caught in a web of confusion. "I... can't feel."

     Sam was wordless with shock, for he was deeply concerned with his master's well being. Frodo clasped his head in his hands and stared at the floor again.

     "No joy... No sorrow... No anger... No pain..." He seemed to be surprised as he said the last word, but continued after a moment's silence. He shook his head in disbelief. "All I feel is confusion and emptiness... Terrible, terrible emptiness."

     Sam's brow was deeply furrowed in worry. He wished that there was something he could do or say, but he thought of nothing. It hurt him when he could not help his master.

     "And... And now that I'm back in the Shire," Frodo continued, his voice now wavering. "All the love and warmth around me just makes me feel even more empty..."

     "But you seem so much happier now, now that you're back home!" Sam exclaimed, breaking his long silence.

     "I am," Frodo replied. "I am happy, but that's not what I meant. It's like eating lembas. You eat a little and you are no longer hungry, yet it does nothing to fill your stomach. You are still empty. The essence is there, but not the feeling. And that's how I feel: nourished but unfilled... Ghost-like, even." Here, Frodo paused to look up at Sam, who was choking back grief and clueless-ness at the same time. Frodo then felt his own eyes water, a now rare and treasured sensation.

     "Oh, Sam!" he cried, throwing his arms around his servant's neck. Tears streamed down his face. "It's the most terrible feeling in the world!"

     Sam gripped Frodo tightly. He too felt tears prick at his eyes as Frodo wept bitterly into his shoulder.

     "There's nothing!" Frodo hiccupped. "Only emptiness... cold, sickening emptiness. I don't care what I feel anymore, as long as I can feel! Pain, sorrow, madness... Anything! Anything..." He broke off into deep, violent sobs, digging his nails into Sam's weskit. Hot tears bit viciously at his eyes before they would spill out over his cheeks. Trembling uncontrollably, he slid out of Sam's arms and hunched over onto his knees. He clutched at his waist as he rolled up tightly into a ball. So suddenly he felt sick, like the void in his stomach was devouring the rest of his body. All he wanted to do was retch, rid himself of the demons inside him. They mercilessly clawed away at his mind, stabbing him with pangs of fear and hopelessness.

     "Why can't I do anything?" Frodo wailed painfully. "I-I can't! I just cant-" He felt his stomach lurch sharply, though nothing happened. Sam hurriedly gathered the hobbit in his arms. Almost instantly Frodo seemed to calm down, though he was still heaving heavily.

     "Oh, Eru!" he whimpered with despair. "There's nothing! Nothing! They took everything and left me only a worse pain!"

     "Who? Those cursed orcs in the tower?" Sam inquired, suddenly feeling a great rage flare.

     "N-No," Frodo answered shakily. "They may have ravaged me of my mind and body, but there was something else that tore at my soul."

     "The Ring?" Sam cried, his face grave.

     "Yes, in a way..." Frodo paused. "When you bore It, did you ever hear voices... strange, dark voices... whispering to you?"

     "Once or twice," Sam replied, though unsurely. "I didn't know who they were or what they said... But it might have been orcs that were talkin' nearby."

     Frodo was silent and shifted nervously.

     "Is this somethin' you wish to talk about, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked gently. "Or is it too painful?"

     "No..." Frodo answered eventually. "I was... just thinking of how they sounded. Often times they spoke to me like a thought in my head, but they also came as whispers in my ear." Frodo paused and grew cold with sweat. "I could nearly feel their breath on my skin..."

     Sam was quiet but was still listening intently.

     "The words they spoke were strange, usually in a different language," Frodo continued. "Though, eventually, I began to understand them... Whether they spoke in Common Tongue or I had begun to learn their dark speech I do not know. But the voices themselves... At first, they were indistinct, neither familiar nor unfamiliar. That was before Cirith Ungol. After you rescued me, they changed."

     "How so?" Sam piped up. Frodo did not answer immediately.

     "One-day, as they were speaking to me, I thought I had heard what sounded like Boromir's voice."

     "Boromir?" Sam asked, surprised. Frodo nodded.

     "Yes. This was the first time they tried to sound like someone I knew, or had known." The last few words were heavy and graven. "Though, that night, I had a dream... or was it a vision? It was cold and dark..."

***

     From the darkness, a horn sounds, clear and sharp. The yelling of many voices can be heard from behind it. There are the brave voices of men and the fell voices of orcs and uruks. The darkness parts to show a huge, gleaming city of white towers. It is flanked by mountains on either of its sides. The range that spans in front of it, though, is shrouded by a dark shadow, clouds of smoke billowing over its peaks. In the fields between the two are masses of Men and orcs clashing in battle. The regiments of Men are waning but holding true against their foes of Mordor. They cannot see the lack of hope that is growing against them.

     "Take a good look at this, Frodo son of Drogo," Boromir's voice narrates clearly over the tumult. "The orcs are marching against the White Tower. But the tide is turning fast."

     The horn rings again, this time more desperately. The Men pull back. Their swords gleam with a burning light as they hew away at the oncoming swarms of Uruk-Hai. But the fearsome foe attacks in kind, quickly consuming the gallant Men again. Another frantic rally is called. Those who answer are now growing fewer.

     "The Men are dying, Frodo," Boromir continues. "My people are dying. My people. After the men are killed, there will be none left to defend our women and children. Our kingdom will fall. And when it does, who's left to protect your lands, the Shire, from the evil of Mordor?"

     One Man, brazen and fearless, rallies his soldiers. Upon his helm is a brilliant crest showing the White Tree with seven stars above its crown. He raises his sword and lets out a battle cry before he is overtaken by several orcs.

     "They won't stop until each free person of Middle-earth is dead. Slaves will be of no use to Sauron when he gets the Ring back. Frodo, you must not let Him do this. You must not let His power grow. Use the Ring... Claim the Ring and save my people... and yours. You would be using it for good, not evil. With such a noble and just cause, with such a pure heart, Sauron will not be able to take sway. Other bearers sought power for their own good and were punished for their selfishness. You shall be rewarded for your righteousness. Please, Frodo..."

***

     "I knew it was the Ring trying to trick me," Frodo stated. "That was clear. But the reason why they chose Boromir to speak to was not."

     "Was there anyone else you knew, sir?" Sam inquired, slightly shaken by Frodo's description of his dream.

     "Yes," Frodo said plainly with dread. "There were many others. Gandalf, for one."

     "Gandalf?" Sam asked, astonished. Frodo nodded.

     "Gandalf, Bilbo, Aragorn... I know that it is hard to believe, but I thought the same at first."

     Sam stared quizzically at Frodo's last statement.

     "At first?"

     Frodo snapped his head towards Sam. He frowned in shock.

     "I can't lie to you, Sam," Frodo said mournfully. "But you must understand. Such soothing words to tired ears... I couldn't help it."

     "Mister Frodo," Sam cooed, taking his master's hand in his. "I'm not condemning you. I couldn't begin to understand what you went through."

     Frodo smiled weakly. He could always count on his servant's blind faith.

     "Tell me about it, sir," Sam continued. "I'm here to listen."

     Frodo said nothing for a moment, grappling with the thoughts in his head.

     "The voices they used to speak to me began to take a toll on me. I reminded myself of their words, and my hand drifted more and more to the Ring on my chest. They told me of how the path to the end of all suffering and pain laid within that simple band of gold. Coldness changed to warmth, lies changed to truth. I could not distinguish between them. The black and white of good and evil melted into gray. I could have given it all up right then and there, but there was hope trying to find its way into my tired heart. At that time, I had not the strength to see it."

     He stopped to look up at Sam, who had become graver with intent and concern. Frodo found a new strength as he peered into Sam's eyes.

     "Yes," Frodo continued. "The Ring knew that, and took advantage of my weakness. One night, I had fallen deep into dark dream. I felt myself back at home, though it wasn't Bag End..."

***

     Frodo can feel himself lying in a bed of soft down, surrounded by a warm woolen quilt. Old, familiar scents waft back to him from the corners of his memories. For a while he feels perfectly at peace. He had not a single thought about the Ring or his quest to destroy it. Warmth seeps through the darkness and envelopes him with a simple love as he can hear a soft and painfully familiar voice speak to him.

     "Frodo... Frodo-lad..."

     Frodo stirs. A lightening bolt of shock shoots through his mind. He opens his mouth and says calmly:

     "Dad?"

     He can almost feel his father smiling beside him.

     "Yes, my dear lad. It's me."

     Frodo slowly opens his eyes. He is back in his old room in Brandy Hall, firelight glowing softly on the walls. Sitting beside him is his father, Drogo. His gentle eyes shine silently with joy.

     "It has been a long time since I've last seen you," Drogo said, smoothing his hand over Frodo's brow. "The older you grow, the more beautiful you are."

     Frodo smiles and closes his eyes again. He lets out a quiet sigh.

     "Thanks, dad."

     "When you were a small boy, you always used to spend so much time at your cousin Bilbo's house, listening to old elf tales until you fell asleep in your chair. But it seems like you've gotten yourself into a completely different kind of tale."

     Frodo's eyes snap open as he feels his father's hand land upon something on his chest. Peering down, he sees the Ring lying on his breast, gleaming dully in the low light.

     "You're a good lad, Frodo," Drogo continues. "It hurts me to see you struggle each day you carry this." He motions to the Ring. "You are confused. The line between good and evil is thin, my lad. What may be wicked in one's eyes may not be so in the eyes of those who look for it."

     Frodo glances over at the hobbitsire while furrowing his brow.

     "Comfort can come in any form for the weary," Drogo states. "They may seek it, or it may come to them unbidden. Those who wander aimlessly have no purpose for the power that comes to them. You have purpose. You search, taking the road by your own self and will. Answers you seek. Closure. Though the road you are taking may seem straightest and true as it lies out in front of you, put there by the Counsel. The strongest forces his own path against those seemingly above him. The strongest makes his own decisions, his own fate. Use the tools given to you wisely, Frodo. You know what it is you want to achieve, and all you need to do is start the path to your ultimate goal."

     Drogo stands up and leaves the room, softly shutting the door behind him. Frodo remains to contemplate the words spoken to him before his sleep is taken away from him. Swiftly he departs the warmth of Brandy Hall and returns to the cold of Mordor.

***

     Here Frodo paused to brush away at the tears falling down his cheeks.

     "They chose my father," Frodo said shakily. "My father, Sam. His words were false but his voice sounded true, and I almost believed both."

     Frodo broke off into a painful silence before his words grew too thick. Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, he continued.

     "It got worse. The Ring knew I was beginning to fall for it, so It kept tormenting me. Sometimes It was painful... So painful... But sometimes It brought me comfort and warmth as It whispered sweetly in my ear. It was playing with me, Sam."

     But there was nothing the gardener could do. All this news came so much of a shock to him. It just ripped him apart inside.

     "Every time It talked to me, I drew myself away, weaker and weaker each time," Frodo stated. He looked over at Sam. "You were trying hard for me, and I didn't want to see you hurt. I kept trying to hold Him off, but He retuned every night stronger and stronger..."

***

     Frodo finds himself shivering in a small ball, curled up at the base of his desk and the wall. Morning light spills in through the open window. The chilling breeze blows in and freezes the hobbit even further. The grasp he has around the long wooden pipe weakens and it drops to the floor, scattering ashes everywhere.

     "God damn it..." he whispers weakly and tiredly.

     In front of him is a small bundle of bright red poppies tied up by a colorful ribbon. A tag on it reads: "To: Mr. Frodo Baggins From: Sam Gamgee" It is written in messy child handwriting, but is still legible. Frodo's hand feebly reaches out for the flowers and looks up at them. Sneering bitterly, unbidden tears roll down his cheeks.

     "God damn it all!" he screams, ripping the tag off and tearing away at the poppies, full of fury. He throws the petals and they flutter back to the floor. Leaping up, he crushes them under his feet, including the black clusters of seeds. Standing there, motionless for all but his heavily heaving chest, he tries to regain his wits. Slowly, he opens his hand to find the paper tag crumpled up, along with the ribbon. He rips the tag apart and scatters the bits in the air. Slowly they float to the floor like snow. With this, Frodo stoops over and grabs the pipe again. With all his will, he bends it until it breaks with a splintery crack. He whips the two halves out the window into the bushes. His hand flies to his pocket. Trembling with rage, he draws out a small folded piece of paper and opens it up. Inside is a gray, flagrant dust collected at the corners. Suddenly, his anger resides, and he stares silently at what lies in his hands. From behind, he hears a voice that sends a shiver up his spine.

     "Son of a bitch."

     Frodo whips around. Standing in front of him is himself: a twenty-one year old Frodo. His eyes are bright with flame.

     "You stupid bleeder," he growls, stepping up to his older self and eyeing him harshly. "How could you have let yourself become this weak... this pathetic?"

     He grabs the paper out of the elder hobbit's hand.

     "Anything to escape?" asks the tweenager contemptuously. He holds the paper up, letting its contents spill upon the floor. The elder hobbit lets out a small yelp of surprise as he drops to his knees, trying to gather the dust in his hands. The tweenager mutters many obscenities under his breath as he pulls the older one up by his collar.

     "Dismal bastard," he snarls. His fingers press hard against the elder hobbit's throat, causing him to whimper in pain.

     "And this," the tweenager adds, pulling out the Ring by its chain. "Hiding behind this, eh? You make me sick." He grunts, and releases Frodo onto the floor.

     "Burning poppy seeds and Rings... Elves and Ringwraiths... Dark Lords and angels..." The tweenager pauses and throws a crooked glance at the older one. "Sounds like a fairy tale, doesn't it? And you think you're some knight in shining armor, going off to perform a great and noble deed." He stops to pick up a piece of the ripped-up tag. Upon it is the word "Sam" is still intact. The tweenager scowls cuttingly.

     "And you drag *him* along..." he says in the most dark and vengeful voice. "You son of a bitch..."

He takes a long stride forward and shoves Frodo up against the wall, pinning him there by his neck.

     "You've gotten weak, Frodo Baggins," the tweenager growls through his clenched jaw, feverish with rage. "Weak, disgusting, fearful..." He presses harder against Frodo's throat until he makes a small, strangled sound. Narrowing his eyes into hateful slits, the tweenager sharply sucks in his breath through his teeth. "...And *perverse*."

     He slips the bit of paper into Frodo's breast pocket, clasps it shut, and proceeds to punch him in the jaw, sending him skidding onto the floor.

     "Hide behind your damn Ring," he says cruelly, looming over the other hobbit. "And when It is destroyed, you're dead, and so is everyone else you care about, what are you going to do then? Either way, Middle-earth will fall into ruin. All its people... All our people... Nobody cares anymore... Not even the gods. They left us, abandoned us... Left us for dead. Now they gloat over in their golden palaces on the other side of the sea, forgetting about the creatures they had done so much to create and protect. Men are worth nothing. Dwarves are worth nothing. Hobbits are worth nothing. All they care about is those damn Elves... the First-born."

     Frodo dares not to look up at his oppressor. Instead, he cowers and secretly brings his fingers to his bloody lip.

     "Yes, Frodo." The tweenager smiles sinisterly. "Everything you are trying to do will never matter. The mortals are doomed. There is no salvation. There is no hope. So that means you can keep on having your sick, little wet dreams about him. It won't matter."

     With that, the tweenager turns to face Frodo, but before doing so, he stoops over to pick up a poppy petal.

     "Burning poppy seeds, my friend... Burning poppy seeds." He flicks the petal into Frodo's face. Letting out an amused chuckle, he steps over the shivering lump of a hobbit. "Heh."

     Frodo can hear him tromp off and slam the door behind him. There is a sudden burst of cold air from the open window, and Frodo passes out into nothingness.

***

     Frodo clutched at his stomach, feeling it lurch again. These memories stung him even worse than they did when he received them.

     "I feel sick," he uttered weakly. Sam made no noise, but rather collected his master in his arms and embraced him closely. He had expected Frodo to start crying, but he did not. All he did was breathe, deeply and unevenly.

     "No, Sam," Frodo said suddenly, pulling himself out of his servant's arms. Sam looked slightly dejected, but just nodded in solemn obedience.

     "I'm sorry, sir," Sam murmured, lowering his eyes.

     "There is no need to apologize," Frodo stated after a shiver racked his body. "You meant no harm... You never do. I should apologize, but I know I would be doing that to the wrong person."

     Frodo peered over at Sam, but they did not meet glances. Frodo sighed softly and turned his face away.

     "You're a noble person, Sam," he continued. "I must have hurt you so many times, but you would never tell me of it. You just bore it all, bravely and strongly. I bet if I asked it of you, you would have borne the Ring for me."

     "I knew it was not mine from the start, Mister Frodo," Sam replied firmly, much to Frodo's chagrin. "I am a simple gardener, naught but a servant. I am not a hero, nor was I ever meant to be. Now, Mister Strider is a real hero. He rose to guide a whole people as their King. And me? I'm just a lap dog who refused to leave his master's side. It's nothin' complicated. Never s'posed to be, sir." Sam paused to peer in Frodo's eyes. "It was duty, Mister Frodo, duty."

     Sam's last words were serious and straightforward. Frodo, for one of the first times, was in awe of his servant, pure astonishment. For that moment, he was wiser than all of the wizards, Elves, kings of Men, and gods put into one. Frodo studied Sam's deep brown eyes as they stared back at his.  They seemed as distant as the lights in the Elvish kingdoms across the sea, but as close as a candle flickering on a nightstand next to one's head as they sleep. Was it indeed wisdom or just plain common sense?

     *Samwise Gamgee... The most deep and shallow person I know...*

     Frodo smiled warmly and nodded his head in profound understanding.

     "My dear, sweet, stupid Sam," he said. Sam just blinked.

     *... And that's why I love him.*

     Frodo laughed for the first time in very, very long time. It was not a forced laugh, nor of spite, but a clear, pure hearted laugh of joy and mirth. Sam smiled naively.

     "Uh, sir?" he asked timidly. "Did you just insult me?"

     Frodo laughed again.

     "No, Sam. I would consider the highest compliment you could ever dream of receiving."

     Sam just blinked.

     "If you say so..." Sam mumbled, slightly confused.

     Frodo grinned widely and was just about to say something when he felt a sharp pain at his stomach. He hunched over, wrapping his arms around his waist. This time, he allowed himself to be taken up by his servant.

     "Mister Frodo!"

     "There's still emptiness inside of me, Sam," Frodo said rather plainly for all the pain he was in. "It won't leave... It won't be taken up. It will never stop tormenting me, punishing me for resisting the Ring... even though... eventually... I gave into It." Frodo's voice fell thin. He lowered his face in shame. "I still feel wretched."

     Sam lifted Frodo's chin from his chest and looked deeply in his eyes.

     "It was not your fault, Mister Frodo," he stated kindly. "No one can blame you for what you did. It doesn't make you any less of a person."

     Frodo nervously turned his eyes away and shifted uneasily.

     "The dream I had before we got to Mount Doom was the worst," he said eventually. "The Ring knew I was close. It knew what I intended to do. So It took one last stand before my soul in hope of dissuading me..."

***

     Frodo sits alone in the darkness, kneeling on a stone floor. The gloom surrounding him is thick, almost tangible. He stirs faintly as he feels a cold, hard gaze land on him. A voice rings out from the shadows, its direction indiscernible.

     "So we meet at last..."

     Frodo scowls.

     "Sauron."

     There is a cruel, spiteful laugh.

     "So you have guessed it was I, little Halfling? You would have known you could have come this far alive?" It laughs again. "Though you are just barely so."

     "What do you want?" Frodo asks, trying to sound confident and fearless.

     "I should ask the same of you," Sauron suggests.

     "I want you destroyed," Frodo states plainly and strongly. Sauron cackles darkly.

     "I expected you to say that, o mighty periannath, fearless, brave, and strong. Though I know more of you than you take me to. There are secrets... yes... deep and dark... that you withhold from yourself yet you embrace so faithfully." He pauses to look upon the hobbit's reactions. Frodo can almost feel Him grinning evilly. "It would be so easy to say that all you wanted, all you desired to do was destroy me. *Hah*! It is such a foolishly contrived falsehood even the most witless Orc could detect it!"

     "You lie!" Frodo yells, now very angry.

     "Admit it, Frodo... You try to be brave and noble by taking up this quest in order to save others' lives. And what good will that do you? Your stupid people will keep on living their meaningless lives, taking no acknowledgment to what you had done for them. Some might even think you mad and cast you out. The lives of Men will be no more concerned with you than they are now, and the silly Dwarves will keep mining under their mountains until they all perish. The Elves will leave every one of you mortals behind; they never even needed you in the first place. And in the end, all there will be is you, yourself, alone. No one left to thank you. You endure all this pain... For what, I ask you, for what?"

     Frodo says nothing. His face is caught in a turmoil of confusion. He can now sense Sauron's voice right in front of him, speaking to him directly and forthrightly.

     "Bind yourself to me, Frodo Baggins. Cast away the shackles of fear and blame. Embrace the power you crave so much..."

     From out of the shadows steps Sam, the Ring hanging about his neck on its mithril chain.

     "And, with me, you can have everything you ever wanted..."

     Sauron's voice seems to come closer and closer with each step Sam takes.

     "...Everything you could ever dream about..."

     Sam stops and kneels down in front of Frodo. His eyes blaze with a strange fire as the Ring glints with an inner light. He places one hand on Frodo's back, the other on his shirt collar. Slowly, he runs his fingers down Frodo's spine to the small of his back while he unbuttons the shirt collar. He leans in close to Frodo's face and says in a deep, husky voice:

     "Includin' the one thing you most greatly desire, Mister Frodo..."

     Sam pulls Frodo in closely while he kisses him slow, deep, and hard. Frodo makes a small noise of surprise and blushes hotly. Sam is feverishly making his way into Frodo's mouth, all the while pawing at his back and chest. Forcefully Sam presses his lips into Frodo's until Frodo squeaks in pleasure-filled pain. Sam sighs amusedly and draws his lips to Frodo's soft, white throat. There he sucks wetly, occasionally nipping at Frodo's skin playfully.

     "Sam... Oh, Sam..." Frodo whimpers, pushing Sam's bracers off his shoulders. Sam smiles wryly and pulls away. Teasingly, he slowly unbuttons his own shirt, revealing more and more to the impatient hobbit sitting in front of him. Soon, he is finished, and he slips it off his broad shoulders. His darkly tanned skin glows softly as the Ring lies against it. Frodo stares breathlessly. Sam smoothes his hands over Frodo's shoulders, removing his bracers. One by one, Sam unfastens each of Frodo's shirt buttons while trailing his lips over Frodo's neck.

     Soon both are shirtless and back in each other's arms again. Frodo's whole front is pressed up to Sam, his head tilted back as he is being kissed on the collarbone. Sam's hands are about Frodo's back, pulling him closer. He then sets his hips tightly against Frodo's. Letting out a soft moan, Frodo can feel Sam pressing hard into him. He blushes darkly and breathes heavily, his heart thrumming fast. Sam pushes far into Frodo, causing Frodo to gasp out loudly. Frodo throws his arms across Sam's back and grips at him tightly. Sam's hand wanders down past Frodo's waist to rest at his trouser buttons. He pauses.

     "Become one with me," he whispers breathily into Frodo's ear. He undoes the buttons and slowly begins to stroke at Frodo.

     "Ohhhh, Sam..."

     Frodo can feel himself beginning to melt into Sam's hands. Dark waves of pleasure crash and ravage at his body, racing up his spine and exploding in his mind. The fire in his belly spreads to every limb and engulfs him in a flame of passion. Deep in his throat comes a low, feverish moan shaped in the words of is lover's name. For a moment, he feels higher than the all the stars and the heavens, hotter than the fires of the Sun. Then he is spiraling back to earth, plummeting, and hits the ground. He cries out fervently and collapses in Sam's arms, his chest heaving. Sam silently wipes his hand on his pant leg, smiling warmly as Frodo looks up at him, exhausted.

     "Oh, Sam... I love you."

     Frodo brings his hand to the Ring. Sam closes his eyes and his lips curl in a smile. He says nothing.

***

     Frodo could say no more, nor bring himself to look at his companion. Emptiness filled him again, replacing the sickening guilt and shame he had up until then. Shifting uneasily, he wearily breathed out no more than a croak. He slowly stood up and hobbled over to the window, inhaling the fresher, cleanlier air.

     "I'm sorry," he murmured, aggravated. "I should not have said anything."

     Sam said nothing.

     "But I could not lie to you, Sam. The Ring was evil... I had lost sight of that long before. It talked to me, and I listened. I believed." 

     He waited for a sign of response, but there was none.

     "You don't know how hard I tried! It was tearing me up inside. It told me what I feared to hear and It told me what I exactly wanted to hear. It knew, Sam, It knew. Denial meant nothing to It... Fear, rejection, pain, desolation... Truth... Sweet truth. I could not tell the difference anymore, and It knew that. What was I to do when It found It's true mark to my soul?"

     He tentatively drew his eyes away from the window and settled them on the floor in front of his feet.

     "All it took was that one dream. That one dream and I was ensnared. All that I knew, all that I wanted... All that It knew, all that It wanted... Everything was out in front of me like an endless plain, a vast vision, boundless and keen. The key to everything was hanging from my neck, entwined in my fingers, shining with the fire from what it was wrought. And yet... when I did claim It... It left me with nothing. But there was that one moment when I stood upon the pinnacle of the earth, staring at all that was and could be mine. Sauron's manifestation, His raging armies and the tall, evil spires towering above them, the brave kingdoms of Men, the deep-delved halls of Dwarves, the silent houses of Elves, the lush, green fields of the Shire, and... and I was even able to see the gleaming of the castles far across the Sea."

     Frodo's expression changed suddenly. Now he spoke with a seething rage, waving his arms about in the air.

     "Why did It not live up to its claims? Could It really have given me everything? Or was all of it false, every single word, ever since I first gazed upon It? If that was so, the emptiness must be of my own despair from Its lies. But I still did everything it bid me, whether it was against what I first set out on or not. How could It have betrayed me when I was so loyal?"

     Sam, speechless until now, stepped up to Frodo and placed his hand on his shoulder.

     "Mister Frodo," Sam stated firmly, almost yelling. Frodo pulled himself away.

     "Leave me alone," Frodo growled. 'How dare you-"

     "Frodo!" Sam shouted, whipping Frodo around on his heels. "Do you even know what you're saying?"

     Glaring at his master, Sam tightened his grip on Frodo's shoulder.

     "It's gone, and there's nothin' you can do about it!"

     Frodo cringed in fear, shrinking away from Sam.

     "I know, I know," Frodo wailed.

     "Then why don't you act like It's gone?" Sam asked.

     Frodo did not answer. He slumped over the desk, dropping his head. Sam stood beside him and leaned over close to him.

     "I don't know what the Ring did to you, Mister Frodo," Sam said softly. "I don't know everything it said, or what it didn't say. But, please, Mister Frodo, leave it in the past. We've fought so hard for where we are now. Don't throw that all away. You did the right thing."

     "I didn't do anything!" Frodo cried. "I failed..." His words grew thick with tears. "I failed the Fellowship... I failed myself... I failed you."

     Sam curled his fingers around Frodo's hand and kissed it tenderly.

     "No, Mister Frodo."

     Frodo looked up at Sam for the first time.

     "I don't know how you could say that..."

     "Stop denyin' yourself the fact that you destroyed the Ring. You don't need it anymore. You never needed it in the first place."

     Frodo sighed and let Sam take him in his arms.

     "All you had to do was remember why you set out on that quest in the first place," Sam continued. "Do you still remember? You did it for all this. You did it for the Shire. You did it for Mister Merry and Mister Pippin. You did it so you could come back to this dusty, old study. You did it so you could wear a different shirt for once. You did it for tea and honey cakes. And you did it for me."

     Frodo stared into Sam's warm brown eyes.

     "Yes, Sam... You're right." Frodo chuckled. "You're always right."

     "I suppose, sir."

     "I guess I had forgotten... But I don't know how far I could have gone with you."

     "Now, Mister Frodo, you don't need to go worryin' about that. No force on earth could have kept me from goin' with you."

     "I know." Frodo squeezed Sam tightly. "Thank you."

     "There's no need for that, sir. I love you, that's all."

     "I love you, too, Sam."

     "Well, I should hope so. But I suppose I should just instead know so."

     "Yes. There's no need for you to go and confusing yourself more than you need to." Frodo laughed. "For you, that would be a disaster."

     "Now, now, Mister Frodo. I sat here listenin' to all you had to say and you repay me by makin' fun of me?"

     "Sam, you know I'm not serious."

     Sam thought for a moment.

     "You're right." Sam folded his arms across his chest. "I wanted to see if you'd notice."

     Frodo grinned.

     "You, my dear friend, can't do anything with out making it glaringly obvious."

     Sam grunted.

     "If that's the way it's going to be, Mister Frodo, I don't think I shall ever talk to you again."

     "Don't you think it would be good if both of us tried to be serious for once?"

     "But doesn't this feel better than just sittin' there and talking about the Ring and your pain and the such?"

     "Yes!" Frodo cried, as if he had a startling revelation. "And you know what? I'm glad you're here to tell me that because even if Gandalf was here listening to me, he'd lead nothing to comfort. In fact, he'd make things worse." Frodo clapped a hand onto Sam's shoulder. "Well, Sam... It seems like you're the only one in this entire world who has real sense."

     "What!?" Sam yelped, surprised. "Y-You're not serious!"

     Frodo clicked his tongue.

     "Sam, Sam, Sam... Can't you ever take a compliment without making a big deal out of it?"

     "So do you expect me to believe everything you say about me?"

     Frodo shrugged.

     "Why not?" Frodo smiled. "You don't know the things you've done to deserve it."

     Sam just blinked. Frodo sighed.

     "And I don't think you ever will..."

     Sam just blinked.

     "You know, Sam," Frodo continued. "I don't think even I myself will ever come to understand all that you've done for me. There were so many times when the Quest could have just ended right then and there. If it weren't for you, I would have just fallen asleep, never to wake up again."

     Sam looked shocked.

     "It's only the truth!" Frodo said in defense. "But if you still think it was all a matter of duty, responsibility, and whatnot, I guess there's nothing I can do to change that. But maybe that was what it all was. Maybe it wasn't. The only thing that matters now is that we're alive and back at home."

     "That's right, Mister Frodo," Sam nodded solemnly. "See? And I didn't even have to tell you that, sir. I think you're finally learnin'."

     "Yes. Where would I ever be without you?"

     Sam shook his head.

     "Mister Frodo, there's still one thing you have to learn... There is no 'without me'. If there was only one thing was meant to happen on that whole quest, it was my goin' with you. Nothing could have stopped me, not even the gods themselves. Not even the Gaffer."

     "Not even the Gaffer?"

     "Not even the Gaffer."

     Frodo was silent with awe.

     "Sam, I would tell you again that you are the wisest person alive, but you wouldn't stand for it."

     "Yes. You're catchin' on and that's all I care about." Sam paused. "Well, I really care about havin' some tea, also."

     Frodo smiled.

     "Me too."

     Together, Sam and Frodo walked out of the room in the long, winding Bag end hallway.

     "It's a good thing Mister Gandalf wasn't here, because if he heard all those things you were sayin' about him, I'm sure he would have turned one of us into something."

     "You've got a good point there, but let's not say anything about it anyway. You know how Gandalf is. For all we know, he could be standing right around this corner, waiting, and then... BAM! We're turned into toads."

     Frodo and Sam suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. Slowing peeking around the corner, Frodo saw nothing but the kitchen.

     "Nobody," Frodo said with a sigh of relief.

     "Good," Sam added. "Because I rather like having thumbs."

     "I would have to agree with you on that." Frodo sat down in a chair. "Now if you don't excuse me, I'm just going to sit here and wait until you're done with the tea."

     "The way it's always been."

     Frodo nodded, his gaze shifting to the open window. He stared outside, listening to the sounds wafting in. He heard no dark voices, no Nazgul screech, no cruel laugh, nor even the Sea. All he heard was the birds singing as they flitted about in the trees and Sam humming to himself as he got the kettle ready... the two most precious sounds to him.

---

Mistress-Samwise: Lame, wasn't it? *burns fic* Die, die, die. Okay. Now, if you've read this far, you gloviously must like slash, so let me advertise my new slash site, Esprit De Corps. It's at http://agape.heavenspit.com . Huzzah for advertising.


End file.
